start living when your heart stops
by Gray Jedi 4000
Summary: When one lives to fifteen hundred years, one learns to recognize the emotions beneath the mask. (Vampire!Jet, starts Jetko, eventually Jet/Mai/Zuko)
1. Contact

The Fire Nation was a beautiful place this time of year, with sandy beaches and hot, hot sun, as it was most times of the year. It was near the winter solstice, not usually a time for celebration among firebenders, but the last fifteen years had been an exception. Fifteen years ago, on the winter solstice, a baby boy had been born to two very, very important people–Princess Ursa and Prince Ozai of the Fire Nation. Now they were Fire Lord and Lady Ozai and Ursa, and their baby boy Zuko was a strapping young Crown Prince. He was beloved by the people, despite his less-then-spectacular firebending prowess, and his birthday was one of the biggest events of the year.

And, of course, who would Jet be to miss his prey's birthday celebration?

And such a lovely celebration it was. Delicious smells wafted on the air of the marketplace, tickling Jet's nose and making his mouth water. Whatever happened to the Prince, he could enjoy this, here and now.

Prince Zuko. He and his family had held a place in vampire culture ever since the first Fire Lord of their dynasty had united a couple of the Fire Islands and started conquering the rest. They were rumored to be fast, ruthless, practically the perfect vampires–all while still being human. Ozai and Ursa, especially, had sent shockwaves through the communities. Their battle prowess was legendary; their bloodthirst, more so. When news of a son reached Jet, he had had to take the chance.

Nights. A _Royal_ _sired_. The family bred themselves for beauty and strength. Zuko would be the perfect combination of allure and skill, and he would be all Jet's.

Cries from the crowd jolted him out of his reverie. "The Prince! The Prince!" Jet stood in the middle of the road–right in their path! The cobbles beneath him echoed the sound of his and the crowd's feet as they scurried into the sides of the road, clearing the way for the celebration. A ways away, to his right, Jet could see the dancers and flower bearers carrying their baskets of petals, scattering little drops of softness and color on the hard gray stones. Behind them, he could see the royal palanquin. It was a beautiful, stately thing, with no less than twelve well-muscled bearers. The gauzy curtains were drawn back to give an excellent view of the family inside, but Jet couldn't see for the distance. Instead, he drew back a little, into the shade of a jewelry stand. It wouldn't do to have Zuko get a good look at him yet, no matter how he wanted to leap from the crowd and snatch him away.

The crowd began to drop into kowtows as the procession drew closer. Jet lowered himself into the low kneel, frowning at the deep humiliation. He was an immortal! Why should he have to bow to such short-lived creatures, no matter how many troops they commanded?

Yet…

He could smell them from here. Spicy and sweet and full of the life Jet had craved for fifteen hundred years. It pulsed through him, a lovely warmth spreading from his nose to his face, then down, down, down, until it was a deep-seated, primal heat, an echo of the human urge for procreation. He raised his head, just a little, trying to capture more of the perfume they exuded. His nostrils flared and his eyelids flickered shut as he let the sensation overwhelm him, fill him, for a precious moment. The flesh above his canines pulsed. His eyes fluttered open again to see the Royal Family seated on their palanquin. Ozai and Ursa sat in the back, conversing. Azula was very good at hiding her disinterest. Zuko stood at the front, waving and smiling genially at the people.

Zuko.

The heat in his gut doubled at the sight of him, his Fangs pressured on the edges of his mouth and he was _dying_ to let them through, desperate to leap from his hunter's position and sink his fangs into that soft, pale neck, take the Prince far away from here, somewhere where he could teach him and take him and love him the way he _deserved_ to be loved—

The Prince looked over sharply and Jet ducked his head back down. Nights. Had he been seen? Had he given himself away so quickly? He could feel Zuko's eyes searching the crowd for him, inspecting each and every bowed head as he tried to find the threat–

"Come on, Zuko!" a bored Azula called from her seat by their parents. "Can't you stop looking for assassins in every shadow for one day?" Ozai turned and glared at her, and she resumed her smiling mask.

Murmurs rolled through the crowd at the mention of assassins, but Zuko's genial smile was back on his face. "There are no assassins!" he called out to the crowd. "It was only a little…" He looked over at Azula, pride and murder in his eyes. "…misplaced exaggeration."

The people calmed at his words. Jet felt the collective tension evaporate from them and smiled at the irony.

In a sense, they were both right. If all went to plan, Zuko would die in the process, but by the end of it, he would be alive and well and living with Jet somewhere far away from prying eyes and too-high expectations.

The palanquin bearers, who had stopped for Zuko's little suspicion, started walking again, and the crowd rose out of their katas, continuing business as usual. Jet didn't get up for a few beats after those around him. For a moment, he stayed down, savoring the sight and sound of the Prince. Pearl skin and raven hair danced before his eyelids, that sweet-savory mixture tickling his nose.

But he couldn't stay in his fantasies forever. He straightened himself up, opening his eyes and letting out that precious breath, reluctantly dragging himself back to reality. The crowds bustled around him as they had before, the procession having turned onto another street.

Even so, he smiled a little. If there had been any doubt as to whether he should do this, it was long gone. Zuko would be his.

Jet's smile only grew at that thought.

* * *

**So, um, I'm still alive. And I'm a much better writer now. And it's not just my flash fictions I'm working on, I swear.**


	2. Preparation

Jet began his reconnaissance the next day.

Others would call it stalking—vampires as well as humans, though with his kind _stalking_ didn't have the same connotation as mortals gave it. But, as a former mortal himself, he'd never really liked the word. It seemed too laden with immorality, and as everyone knew, vampires didn't deal in human morality. They were predators. The wolf didn't follow the rabbit's laws.

Which meant that he really shouldn't be tried according to human laws if he got caught breaking and entering, like he was doing now. But he wouldn't get caught. The statue's head was too easy to get to, and besides, the guards never looked up. Which was odd—with all the nooks and crannies up here, chandeliers and statues and whatnot, one would think that those guarding this place would know better.

His foot slipped as he jumped from one gold head to the next, trying to find where the Prince was studying, and the sound echoed in the chamber around him. _Nights!_ Had the guards heard him? Would they finally look up?

One of the masked people below turned to the other. "What do you think that was?" The voice is masculine and unsure.

"Probably just Prince Zuko," the other replies, shrugging. Their voice is feminine and unconcerned.

His prey, up in the rafters? It almost made sense, considering the rumors Jet had heard. Zuko was said to have had ninja training, to be able to cloak himself in shadow and sneak past even the most vigilant and observant guards, to have struck down multiple assassins at once at the tender age of nine. Maybe those rumors had some basis after all.

(Nights, wouldn't that be hot.)

* * *

One week after Jet made first sight, he finally managed to get a solid hour of watching his prey. He told himself it was productive, that he was studying the way Zuko moved in a fight, but he knew the truth.

Everything about his prey was absolutely perfect.

Zuko was about to practice his dao when Jet finally managed to find a suitably hidden spot. Through the leaves of the old oak, he watched the whole process, from the Prince's furtive, wary glances as he stripped off the trappings of his office to the way his black silken hair whirled about him as he stepped into his katas to the easing tension of his shoulders and torso as the katas became more and more advanced. He could see the lines and curves of well-kept musculature working beneath smooth, pale skin, and, just like the first time Jet had seen him, he felt his fangs pressing down against his upper jaw.

_Not yet,_ he told himself again. _Not yet._

* * *

Zuko confused Jet.

Over a month, he'd begun watching and studying Zuko both on and off the training arena. Along with dao and firebending, Zuko practiced with throwing knives and shurikens, regular knives, and hand-to-hand combat. His sister, so lavishly praised with her skills, practiced with the same, save for the dao. Her combat talent obviously laid in firebending, shurikens, and trash-talking. Zuko's lay in the dao; he was as much a prodigy with the twin swords as his sister was with firebending. Jet had met with and fought many swordsmen over the years, both formally trained and self-taught, and he could say with complete confidence that Zuko was in the best five he'd ever seen, if not simply the best.

And yet, whenever Jet got the privilege of watching him practice, the Prince seemed guilty to be doing what he was.

Jet suspected that Zuko was a mixture of formally trained and self-taught, judging from the mixture of well-known moves and unorthodox katas. He'd heard rumor of a human man by the name of Piandao, who taught not rigidity and tradition in sword training but creativity and flexibility. Naturally, his encouragement of free thought and independence did not make him popular with the more traditional segment of the Fire Nation elite. Perhaps Ozai had recommended his son to the master, only to find that Zuko was taking a path his father did not want him to take.

He got his answer one fateful day when Ozai caught sight of his son working through a kata that seemed specifically designed to fend off multiple enemies with their own swords. "_Zuko!_"

The Prince dropped his swords, snapping into a quick bow, fear in the tension in his jaw and the slight widening of his eyes. "Father." He did not speak further than the tense greeting.

"You know full well you are not to be playing with a commoner's weapon," Ozai hissed. "Your mother may have allowed your trivial 'practice' in the past, but I will not stand for such disrespect of your station."

"Yes, Father."

"This is the _sixth time_ I have caught you with your swords. You are lucky your mother does not allow me to use corporal punishment."

"I understand, Father." He could not hide the way his eyes and head dropped just a few degrees, disappointment pulling the corners of his mouth down and shining his eyes with yet-to-be-shed tears.

"Then you will get rid of those things." Pride stiffening his posture, Ozai stormed out of the courtyard in the way only elites could–head high, steps firm, shoulders back.

Jet hadn't noticed the growl in the back of his throat until Zuko's head whipped around, eyes narrowed in suspicion. The man had no _right!_ Who was he to order Zuko to give up his solace? Who was he to try to mold _his_ Prince into yet another no-brained, empty-smiled sycophant? Did he want a figurehead for a son?

_Don't you worry, my little prey,_ he thought, trying to calm the rage that had enveloped him. _When you're mine, truly, fully mine, you can practice your dao to your heart's content._

* * *

The aftermath of the confrontation was…destructive.

Jet stayed far longer that day than he usually did, following his Zuko as he picked up his dao and headed to a proper training ground, stuffing his swords in a hiding spot in his room along the way. The servants must have seen him coming and surreptitiously given the order to set up some targets, because bags of straw in the approximate shape of a human were already set up at the opposite end of the training room. Jet tucked himself into a shadowy corner behind a rack of knives and settled down to watch the show.

And what a show it was. Zuko attacked the targets again and again, with firebending, knives, punching, well-practiced techniques dissolving into insane fury and a near-complete loss of control. At the end of it all, Zuko unleashed one final flaming breath, relighting the targets yet again, and–

–collapsed.

He was sprawled on the stone floor, burn scars surrounding him, quiet sobs tearing through his throat, torso shaking with every heaving breath. Jet wanted to slide out of the shadows and lay on top of him, kissing the tears away, murmuring soft words of comfort, pouring much-needed affection over him until he was able to smile again. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, though he did not need it, helped calm the desire; he doubted that Zuko would welcome a stranger cuddling him, especially a stranger with no body heat. Appearing now, no matter how he wanted to comfort his Zuko, would only cut off Jet from his true goal.

Thankfully, he didn't have to appear. Ursa herself appeared at the door, took in the scorch marks, flaming targets, and heap of flesh and sorrow, and immediately went to her son. "Your father catch you with your dao again?"

"Mm-hm."

"Told you to give it up completely?"

"Mm-hm."

"I'll talk some sense into him," she said, in a way that seemed to mean that she'd threaten some sense into him. "You know, your father rarely means what he says."

Zuko reached out and dragged his head onto his mother's lap, prompting her to start stroking his hair. "I know."

"What he probably means here is to practice it somewhere no-one important will find you. I've never met anyone as obsessed with image as him." The fond exasperation on her face was not exactly what Jet had expected. "Of course, it's not always the image you expect."

"I know, Mom." Zuko lifts his head a bit. "I just–"

"You want him to be affectionate."

He nods.

Ursa sighed. "I've tried for seventeen years to try to get him to be affectionate, turtleduckling. I'm starting to think it's either impossible or he has a very different definition of _affection_ than the rest of us."

Zuko looked up at his mother, eyes wide and mouth pulled down just slightly in his pleading.

"I know, Zuko." She ruffled his hair. "I know."

Jet watched the pair together for a while afterwards, processing the information they'd just unintentionally given him. Zuko's father now had more facets than only the confrontation or the rumors; he doubted someone so independent as Ursa would have stood to live with or love one who disrespected her. Perhaps Ozai was displacing anger from a long-standing fight between him and his wife on someone he didn't feel could fight back.

But that just meant Zuko needed to get out of there sooner.

* * *

Two months later, when both Zuko and Ozai had mostly forgotten their altercation, Jet found Zuko in the same courtyard. The Prince sat quietly by the pond, bread on one side of him and an unlit candle on the other. A couple of turtleducks padded over to him. Zuko, of course, allowed them to sit next to him, feeding them bread crumbs and giving them little head pats. It was a peaceful scene.

That peacefulness was interrupted by footsteps from the walkway. Jet narrowed his eyes in contempt as Azula stepped out of the shadows, plopping herself down in a place that was both conveniently close to her brother and conveniently free of turtleducks.

She began the conversation abruptly, with no context. "Why do you work so hard for him?"

Zuko looks over to his sister, clearly knowing things that Jet did not. "Why do you work so hard for her?"

"To annoy you. Duh."

Zuko raised an eyebrow. "Why else?"

"And why should I tell you that?" she asked, pursing her lips

"Because I asked, and you want to know my reasons." The conversation had the feel of one had many times, in many forms.

The Princess huffed. "Fine. I want her because then I'd be the favorite child of everyone. She's the last person I have to convince." She looked over to her brother. "Your turn."

He looked up to the sky. Closed his eyes. "Because I want the love of both my parents. Because I don't want him breathing down my neck, waiting for me to slip up so that he can berate me again. People who love you don't do that."

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh nights.

He needed to get Zuko out of there, and soon.

"What do you know?" Azula snaps. "Just Mom and Uncle is a pretty small sample size. And we both know that whatever Father does, he does it for the good of the nation."

"I know." Zuko sighs and lays back on the sunlight grass. "But you have Father and Zhao."

"Neither of us have Zhao. He barely tolerates either of us. You _know_ that." She huffed at her brother, scowling. "He's jealous of Mom for stealing Father or something."

Well. Jet was always down for gossip, and this sounded _juicy._ He leaned a little closer, still hidden in the leaves of the oak, but all he got was a sigh from Zuko. "Ok. Fine. But you still have, like, the _entire country_ adoring you. That's a bit more than just Mom and Uncle."

"You're kidding, right?" Jet mentally echoed the sentiment, reflecting on the memory of Zuko's birthday celebration. "Most of the country prefers _you._"

"What? Why would anyone like _me_? _You're_ the firebending prodigy."

They kept arguing, but Jet had stopped listening so intently. Was Zuko really so unaware of his own charm? Did he really not see? Jet had heard of a human thing called an _inferiority complex_, but he'd never really believed it existed until now.

Well. If Zuko really thought himself unworthy of love, Jet would just have to convince him otherwise.

_Soon,_ he promised himself. _Soon._


	3. Execution

The winter's night air was sweet and crisp, releasing the smells of the end of the festival. Zuko was now sixteen. Officially an adult. The same biological age as Jet.

Tonight.

Tonight Jet would whisk him away and make him his. Tonight, one week after the Prince fully entered the spotlight and became a major player in court, he would disappear, never to be seen again. Tonight, Zuko would wake in pain, and his attacker would make all his dreams come true.

Ah, he could already practically taste Zuko's blood on his tongue, sweet and spicy and thick and hot and full of life. He'd struggle at first—they all did—but the flesh moving across his fangs would make it all the sweeter.

Jet would have to make sure no-one walked in on them. Humans judged so quickly, and they had no way to tell a hungry vampire from a benevolent one. If anyone interrupted the process and Jet couldn't feed him enough in three days, Zuko would die. Permanently.

That…that wouldn't be good.

But enough dallying. Zuko was waiting and the world was asleep; now was his chance. He rose, watching the spots of light on the wall to the Inner City moving, waiting for a dark spot to open up. The night watch on the wall was often inconsistent—one hundred years of peace and general satisfaction tended to do that.

Wait for it.

Wait.

_There!_

Coiling and springing from his place on the roof, he bounded from the cobbled pathway on the wall to another roof on the other side. This one was far richer than any in the Outer City; the aristocracy did so love to show off their wealth. Gold twinkled in the light of the crescent moon as Jet used his momentum to bound from rooftop to rooftop. His footsteps were silent, mostly. Those that weren't bothered no-one. The pools of light and wide streets posed no threat to Jet, who knew the paths and footholds from a year of investigation and intelligence gathering.

In what felt like no time, he was there. The palace towered over its gardens, the smells of many, many people, servants and nobles alike, wafting outwards on the breeze. Jet closed his eyes for a minute, safe in the shadow of an overhanging, and breathed in the scent, revelling in the feeling of life it gave him. Zuko's smell rode high above the others.

But where was it coming from…

There! Fourth story balcony on the west side, facing the sunset. This was too easy. For a moment, a part in the back of his brain worried over how easy it would be for assassins to take him, but he shut that train of thought down with an assurance that once Jet was done with him, he wouldn't have to worry about assassins ever again.

Only a couple leaps, and he was hanging onto a railing two floors below Zuko's room. That delicious spicy-sweet smell only got stronger. He sprung from the railing soundlessly, grabbing onto the one above it, and hauled himself up to the third, then fourth floor.

And there he was.

Jet could just see the glimmer of pale skin in the bed, beckoning him with its softness and the life that thrummed beneath it. He could smell the blood from here. The rug was soft and plush beneath his bare feet and made no sound as he crept towards his prey.

Zuko mumbled in his sleep, turning his face towards the moonlight. Jet froze, but he remained undiscovered—the Prince calmed only moments later.

His face was beautiful. Sleeping innocence shone from his features, the untroubled rest of the righteous and good on display for anyone brave enough to breach or bypass the palace's defenses. It stood in stark contrast to what he'd known of him from his preparations. Now, the bluster and intensity were gone, and soft peace wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

If Jet had his way, and he _would_ have his way, his Zuko would look like that all the time.

Even with the angelic looks, though, the smell of food enticed him to slip across the floor and lean onto the soft pile of blankets and pillows heaped on the bed. The Prince's neck was bare. Tunnel vision narrowed Jet's focus until all he could even _think_ about was soft flesh in his mouth and hot blood swamping his senses. His fangs slid out, practically dripping with venom and saliva, leaning slowly, achingly slowly, down to where his target lay—

And then he lost control and dropped his head, burying sharp fangs in a warm neck.

Zuko woke to a slicing pain.

There was a hand on his mouth, muffling the involuntary cry. Panic blinded his thoughts as he began to scrabble at the teeth in his neck, and some other hands pushed him down, immobilizing him. What was happening? Why would someone attack him like this? He couldn't scream loud enough past the hand—all that was coming out were muffled sounds that wouldn't alert the guards in time. Even more pain bloomed at the first shift of his neck. A tiny sob lodged itself in his throat at the intensity. The body on top of him shifted a little, and more shooting pain reached into his head and chest.

He wanted to black out. He never did.

The taste of bittersweet dark chocolate flooded Jet's mouth, and he shifted to better get at the humming life in the Prince's veins. A tiny sob broke from his prey, reminding him of the agony that being bitten entailed—but it was fine; the blessings later would far outweigh the pain of now. And he was a bit too caught up in the ecstasy of biting him.

The Prince began to struggle, sliding his neck over Jet's fangs. A slight moan escaped him as he shot venom into his bloodstream, which would start the transformation, letting him come back from the dead if he was fed soon enough, and acting as a numbing agent and sedative. Wonderful stuff. He began to idly rub slow circles into Zuko's arm, feeling the warm skin and flesh beneath his hand, wondering if that would be enough to soothe him if he turned out to have some unforeseen resistance to the venom.

Having Zuko as a sired would be wonderful, but right now, he never wanted this to end.

But end it did. The steady flow of warm, earthy liquid began to dry, and Jet made himself slide his fangs out, albeit slowly, and sit up to look at his soon-to-be-sired. The mild sedative had worked; Zuko now looked only sleepy and mildly confused, compared to the sheer panic that must have haunted him at the beginning. Ah, he was beautiful. Jet reached out to stroke his cheek, but the Prince scooted away at the last minute, a fighter to the end.

"Shhhhh," he whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you." He leaned in, his dramatic streak getting the better of him. "I've come to set you free."

A quick slice of his fangs against his own wrist, and dark red liquid began to ooze, matching the stains on the bedclothes. "Drink." Jet lay the wound to Zuko's lips, and they parted ever so slightly to make way for a wet tongue. Zuko's eyes flickered closed at the taste. He began to suck gently, hoping for succor in the arms of his attacker, and Jet obliged, drawing the cooling body onto his lap and stroking black silken hair. Times like now were, even more than the bite, what many vampires lived for–the giving in of a sired to the warm coolness of undeath, muscles relaxing into their first feeding, curling up in the safety of their sire's lap.

He'd forgotten just how _cute_ new sires could be.

The fangs were sliding out of him. Zuko didn't know what to do with that. Some small, detached part of him snarked that maybe he shouldn't have ever had to know.

He ended up doing nothing but lying there, artificial calm and real exhaustion making his limbs like lead. Only his eyes moved, and it was then, looking at the shadowed figure that now sat up on his bed, that he realized that his attacker was a person, a human.

Well. Judging from the red running down their mouth and glistening in the moonlight, they weren't actually human.

The figure reached a hand toward him, and Zuko only barely managed to shift his uncooperative body away before they made contact. Confusion flitted across the dark face, followed by understanding.

"Shhhhh," the figure murmured, in what seemed an attempt to be soothing. "I'm not here to hurt you." It moved towards him, the moonlight finally illuminating a handsome face and wild, delirious eyes. "I've come to set you free."

Its (his?) fangs were still dripping with Zuko's blood, even as it used the sharp point to slice an opening into its wrist. The action didn't make sense until it put the wound to his mouth (!). Warm liquid wet his lips, and his tongue flicked out to get a taste before he could come to his senses and remind himself that it was probably his own blood.

–and by then it didn't matter, because it tasted like heaven.

His eyes drifted closed at the taste, a tiny moan building in the back of his throat. It slipped a cool hand beneath Zuko's head as he sucked at the wound, positioning it in its (his. It was a he.) lap, sliding it up to stroke his hair, whispering soft encouragements in the dead of night. Zuko shifted his body to better fit his head on the other's legs, which were comfortable despite their lack of body heat.

He didn't know how long he laid there, feeding off of blood of unknown origin and feeling his limbs chill as his heart slowed and his earlier blood loss took its toll. The pain of the bite had worn off, replaced by a cold numbness in his neck and the warmth of this strange assassin. He didn't know who the assassin was or why he'd chosen him, but whoever his assailant was, Zuko found himself oddly grateful.

He could feel the shift in his life, and he welcomed it.

Jet waited for Zuko to ease off on the pressure, gently stroking his thumb across Zuko's cheek, his muscles soft and his smile warm. No one yet had disturbed them–a stroke of luck that Jet knew was not to be taken lightly. But it wouldn't last. They hadn't alerted the guards, but a servant on the graveyard shift might come in to replace the wood on the fire or place breakfast on the nightstand and discover that their beloved Prince had been attacked and infected by a semi-mythological creature of the night, and who knows what would happen to them? Perhaps Zuko had fed enough, but young vampires _needed_ their sires. Though he was known for his honor, he would most likely end up doing some…less than honorable things to satisfy his hunger.

The pressure on his wrist wound eased, and Zuko's breath stilled as he died. Jet slipped an arm under his cooling knees and another beneath his arms, lifting his precious sired from the bed and sauntering to the balcony. A little blood had dried on both their chins. The city stretched before them. Jet could see why Zuko would like something so high up and so exposed–the view here was wonderful. He could see for miles.

The door creaked.

Jet looked back to see two servants slip in, one preoccupied with the loads in their hands, one with one hand on the other and eyes closed in a way that suggested blindness. He paused, waiting for them to drop their load and leave before they noticed the figure backlit by the moonlight–and then remembered that he should probably go somewhere where he _wouldn't_ cast such an obvious silhouette. Sliding back to the wall next to the balcony, he shifted Zuko's body so that it wouldn't stick out and give them away.

"Thanks for helping me with the load, Kohaku," the blind one breathed, setting the load in her right arm down and grabbing at the pole slung on her left shoulder. "You know it's hard for me to carry loads that need two hands when I'm in an unfamiliar environment."

"Anytime, Masumi," the one of (probably deliberately) indeterminate gender replied. "Sorry about Isao. He's been here a while, and he's old, and he's still kinda stuck with the Azulon mindset." There was history behind that, Jet was sure. "It wasn't anything you did." They both spoke quietly, presumably to not wake the hypothetically still-sleeping Prince.

They still hadn't noticed Jet in the corner.

"I didn't think so," Masumi said. "But thank you anyways."

Kohaku puts down their own load and begins to guide Masumi's hands over the table they'd set their small piles of food and amenities on. "Thankfully, Prince Zuko's very specific about where to place what, but he's also very forgiving. Towels go here, on the back left corner…" As they talked, they guided her hands to the table, letting her feel the corners and memorize the placement of each of the items. Hot towels, pomegranate seeds, dried mango slices, water bowl. He'd have to remember those things.

Their backs were to Jet, and he took the chance, moving slowly out to where he could feel the night breeze ruffling his hair. His boots made no sound on the carpet. Slowly, he turned around, listening closely to their conversation, making ready to leap out the window before Kohaku could turn around and see him. The back of his neck prickled with the phantom sensation of goosebumps. If he had needed to breathe, which he hadn't in centuries, he still wouldn't have dared.

He froze when Kohaku shifted, her face angled just slightly more towards Jet and his Zuko–but they didn't see him. Not yet. They were still safe.

"…and of course don't forget to keep away from the bed when you come in. The Prince has a habit of attacking whoever wakes him up."

"Good to know," the blind one–Masumi–chuckled. "Though where is his bed?"

"I'll show you in the morning. But over here is his–_what!_"

Now Kohaku had seen him.

"What–what's happening?" Masumi cried, stepping forward, pole rapping at the furniture. "What's going on?" Jet had frozen at the edge of the balcony–the only way to detect him would be to see him, or perhaps smell the blood on his and Zuko's clothes. No wonder she was so distressed. "Is the Prince–"

"Someone's got him!" Kohaku cried. "Or maybe he's got someone?"

Jet finally recovered his words. "First one, darling." He savors the horrified chill visibly running down both their spines. "And no, you can't have him back." He stepped onto the railing and jumped to the nearest rooftop, Zuko in his arms, in one fluid motion.

"Don't–" Kohaku yelled, but they were too late. The only thing left of the Prince were the blood-soaked sheets on the bed.


	4. Winding Down

Zuko woke to pain in his neck.

The memories of last night (?) were fuzzy, and most of what he remembered was a feeling of safety incongruous with what little else he recalled. He didn't know where he was, but that irrational feeling of safety persisted even now, and despite his darkened surroundings. he felt comfortable enough to drift back to sleep.

Instead he deliberately stretched out his hands to feel what he couldn't see. Where there was no plush fabric, he felt only air, and concluded, naturally, that he was laying in a bed somewhere. The blankets were soft, the pillows firm, and he was comfortable save for the pain in his neck.

His thoughts didn't go much further than that. Some strange haze had drifted over his mind, the same sort of mental fog that came with exhaustion or deep relaxation. It felt good. Part of him wanted to rebel against it, sensing something limiting in the way his thoughts unravelled and dissolved, but that part was small and tired and easy to ignore. He turned onto his side, scrunched the pillow up beneath his head, and fell asleep in moments.

* * *

When he awoke it was lighter, and he could see the dark brown color of the blankets he was under. His sheets were a lighter color. He no longer felt the urge to close his eyes and drift away, but the mind fog was still there, and his thoughts still fell apart if he tried to take them too far, like he was trying to hold ice in his hands as it melted. Still there, too, was that irrational feeling of safety, like someone had wrapped up his soul in a blanket and set him in front of a roaring fire. He knew he shouldn't feel safe because…because…

He couldn't remember. His thoughts dissolved before he could get to the reasons, and so the feeling stayed.

A creak sounded from somewhere outside his room, making him raise his head to listen better. The bedroom was still empty, but something still made him sit up and watch the door, something scared and suspicious, the little part of him that fought against the heavy contentment. Years of fear and pain could not be undone so easily.

The door swung open.

"Hey, darling," his attacker greeted.

Zuko blinked, then sighed deeply in relief and tucked his knees under his chin, half-lidded eyes admiring the silhouette in the doorway as it moved into the room, gaining color and features as it moved into the room and onto the bed to tangle cool fingers in his hair. "How'd you sleep?" his companion asked, a little red running down his chin as he kissed Zuko on the forehead.

"Well," Zuko murmured as he leaned into the kiss. "I don't know your name."

"It's Jet, darling." He kissed Zuko's temple, mumbling against his skin, stroking his hair. The way Jet sprawled against his legs and nuzzled his face against Zuko's felt good. Like there was nothing to worry about. "And I already know yours."

"Mmm." He closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch.

Jet naturally obliged him, curling his body around Zuko's back and resting his chin on Zuko's head. "Don't worry, baby. I'm here. You're safe."

That…that felt good. It felt good to be safe.

That little critical, suspicious voice in his head was quieting.

* * *

It was…how long had it been? A couple of weeks, maybe, though he couldn't really say–he'd spent most of the time sleeping, feeding off of Jet, and staring at the wall as his mind worked at a slowed, listless pace. He hadn't yet left his room. He hadn't had the energy to move from the bed for as long as he'd been here, but now his limbs felt lighter and his body, while cool, no longer seemed like deadweight. It was easy to push himself up, easy to swing his legs over and stand, easy to push the door aside and finally explore this new apartment. The floor was wood, but well kept, and he didn't fear for his bare feet. The walls were unadorned. No scent floated through the halls, not like the palace. This place was new, but he knew it would be home, and he intended to make it so.

Something inside him had changed over the course of that time resting, like he had become an infant again, like someone had reached inside and plucked out all his worries and suspicions. It felt…not unpleasant.

He came out of the hall to see a little kitchen and living space hybrid, decorated in soft reds, with pillows strewn casually through the left half. A familiar figure knelt at the table, writing what looked like a letter. Jet. Zuko stopped in the doorway, leaning against it, watching graceful movements with a sort of fascination with the mere act of movement, with no symbolism or deeper meaning behind it. Like an infant indeed.

"Hey, darling," Jet greeted him, just like the first time he'd come in and curled up, just like every time after when Zuko found himself struggling with needs he'd been able to control easily as a human and Jet had worked magic on him. "You're up."

"I…guess." His voice was hoarse from disuse. His thoughts worked more, but they stayed very concrete, very grounded in what he could see and feel and hear. He remembered being good at the abstract, before–

Before.

He blinked, pushed the memories out of his mind before the bubble of pain could rise to the surface and pop. Jet beckoned him into the room and he followed, settling himself down on one of the pillows, focused on Jet and only Jet.

"I got you something," Jet mentioned.

Zuko didn't speak, only watched as Jet reached under the table and took out a bowl of pomegranate seeds. "I heard you like these."

"I do," Zuko said. He reached for one and delicately placed it on his tongue, savoring the taste. It was like he remembered from before. He took a few more and ate them.

"Snack all you want, darling," Jet said, "but remember, human food won't sustain you. You'll need blood."

Zuko blinked. Tried to think. "Blood?" His thoughts were trying to move through syrup. "I'll…need to hunt."

"Not right now, darling. I'll hunt for you. Just rest and feed off me."

"Mm." That feeling of safety was coming back again, wrapping him in warmth and sleepiness, weighing down his eyelids and lightening his soul. His energy was waning. Slowly he lowered his head into his hands, then onto the table, all the while focused on Jet writing his letter, watching his hands move with absolute precision and grace. Once or twice Jet paused in his smooth calligraphy to idly stroke his hands through Zuko's hair. Something in the back of his head whispered that this vulnerability meant danger, meant someone or something was going to attack you, meant that you could die if you kept your guard down too long—but the graceful fingers holding the brush promised safety and protection, and the hand that tangled itself in his hair promised a sort of love and adoration he had never quite had before. He wanted this sort of peace to last forever.

"You getting tired, darling?" Jet murmured.

"Mm." Jet's voice was sweet and soft, and Zuko found himself caught up in the ways it rose and fell and hummed in his ears.

"Can I walk you back to bed?"

"Yes, please."

Jet chuckled, laid his brush carefully down next to his letter, and slipped his hand into Zuko's. Even the way he stood up was magnificent. "Come on, darling," he said, tugging him up and letting Zuko lay his head on his shoulder as he slipped his arm around Zuko's waist.

He put Zuko to bed, quietly, peacefully, kissing his forehead and lying down beside him. Neither had any desire to go further. There was no need right now. They stayed on top of the blanket and simply existed.

And that was enough.

* * *

Zuko was getting restless.

It had been a few months since he'd first risen from his bed, and his energy had slowly been building until his sleep schedule had gone from _sleep all day_ to somewhat normal, if nocturnal. The fog over his mind had gradually receded until he could think normally again. Jet had been bringing him new animals to feed off of–mice and racoons and other small things–weaning him off of the blood in his body and onto things he can hunt for himself. Neither he nor Jet could deny that he was growing up.

He sat on his bed, one of his knees jittering up and down with excess energy. Jet was out hunting. Zuko didn't know what to do–he'd always been with Jet before, or content with his own thoughts. So, naturally, he did the one thing he could think of. He stood up and wandered the apartment.

As he'd seen before, it was laid out in a traditional Fire Nation style, with wooden floors and unadorned halls. He passed the little kitchen/living area where Jet wrote his letters and ambled onto the balcony, watching the city below, looking over the lights and half wondering if anyone would notice if he hopped up to the roof to practice firebending. He wondered if he could even firebend anymore. Sleeping through the daytime would cut him off from Agni's power and his body no longer produced the heat it once had, and so his old abilities were in doubt.

He finally decided to do the deed, walking to the roof's edge and pulling himself up with a quick motion. A couple tiles came loose under his feet, but the building was old, and that was to be expected. The night air was cool on his face as he sat down. The caldera below was a constant source of steady low-level light, but he could still see the stars above him, a hundred constellations twinkling in the deep blue void. The sight calmed him for a minute.

But he still found himself restless.

Despite the old, unstable roof, he stood up and tried to get in a basic stance. He got it right, he was sure of it–but there was no chi priming inside him, no sudden heat that rushed through his veins. Maybe it was that he hadn't practiced in a couple of months. Maybe it was the lack of sun. Maybe it was the bite. Whatever it was, when he threw the first punch in the kata, absolutely nothing came out. Not even sparks.

If Father were here, he'd get a dressing-down. But Father wasn't here, and Jet wasn't a bender, and the fear he felt of his failure was so much less than before.

He tried a few more times, going through the whole kata slowly, but again and again no fire or sparks appeared. His bending was gone. For good? Did it matter? Did he care?

Just half a year ago, the answers to the last two questions would be _yes_ and _yes._ Now, he really didn't know.

"Zuko?" a voice called from inside the house. Jet was home. "Where'd you go?"

"Over here!" he called back, hopping off the roof and landing perfectly on the balcony.

Jet was smiling at him, hands behind his back. "I have something for you. It should make up for you losing your bending." So he did know. "Here." He took his hand from behind his back and revealed a very familiar dao sheath, with two very familiar handles sticking out of the top end. "I stole it from your old room in the palace. The stuff for taking care of it's in the kitchen."

If he'd done it a year ago, before Zuko knew him (before Zuko had had another chance at childhood), he would have been suspicious, defensive, angry. But now and here he was flattered and delighted. He took the dao with familiar reverence and slung them over his shoulder, letting the friendly weight settle on his back, then slipped an arm around Jet's waist and nuzzled his face into the cool crook of his sire's neck. "Thank you. I didn't think I'd ever see these again."

He felt a little kiss on his jaw and a chuckle by his ear. "Darling. I know you too well for that."

Jet smelled of soap and conditioner, which smelled good on him, and Zuko stayed there a long time, drinking in the smell and touch of his sire. When he pulled away, Jet had his eyes closed, face displaying the same contentedness that filled Zuko.

Slowly Jet opened his eyes and tugged Zuko into the living room. "Maybe we can spar later," he mumbled. "But right now, let's just be."

It was a good feeling.


	5. Complication

It had been a year, now, almost to the dot. Zuko's anniversary was just three days ago. He'd grown so much. Already he'd been on two hunts, done stunningly well on both, and Jet found himself swelling with undeserved pride whenever he thought about his sired's prowess.

And now they were on his third. Jet could smell Zuko's concentration from here, see the way he tensed as he scented another prey. It was a strong scent, too. Something, somewhere, was bleeding out.

He let Zuko lead the hunt.

It didn't last long. Whatever was giving off the smell was only a few blocks away, and it was weak and unmoving. They closed in on the alley way, Zuko's fangs already out in anticipation, moving silently on the cobblestones. A pile of rats had been tossed here by some pest control, and a lot of their blood had already been lost to the air. Still, though, it was a free meal, if a little low-class, and many of those rats were still whole. They each selected two of the cleanest they could find, and, sucking them dry, continued on to the next district.

This neighborhood was richer, though not by much. Crime was less around here, which meant fewer ready-made meals, though this specific district was more than a bit…red-light. (Zuko, ironically, knew the situation better than Jet did. He'd at least tried to have his finger on the city and country's pulse, even from the palace–a difficult feat when everything you hear is filtered through the mouths of nobility and terrified servants.) Even with so many women who would take money, there were those who still wouldn't pay, or even ask, and those were who they were after.

The scent of blood, much like before with the pile of rats, wafted on the air and into their noses, and Jet let Zuko make the decision to follow it to its source.

It was only a few blocks away, just like the rats, but Jet doubted it would be something that guiltless. New vampires had a tendency to…moralize. He himself had gotten over the problem ages ago, of course, but his Zuko was young, and he'd been renowned for his honor in his human life.

He looked over at his sired as the pair leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Zuko was caught up in the hunt: pupils dilated, poised and ready to leap, mouth ever so slightly open to taste the scent of their prey. It was a terrifying look for a mortal to behold, but every vampire knew the ecstasy of the hunt, of knowing that soon you were going to feast. Smells grew richer, sight got better, the mind focused in on the kill. You could practically feel the warm blood on your tongue. Jet, for one, looked forward to it, and he was sure Zuko looked forward to it too.

The look dropped off his face when they got to the spot.

"Mai?" he whispered in quiet horror. The young woman, Zuko's age, lay in a large pool of what was almost certainly her own blood, huge gashes in her neck exposing a broken collarbone and red glistening flesh. Her face was paler even than the noble's silly ideal from blood loss. Her limbs were in positions that suggested a fight. Even worse, her eyes were open. And staring.

She was still alive.

A vampire attack, then. Victims could live up to three days before dying, waiting for blood. Zuko tiptoed over to her and sunk to his knees, hand over his mouth, utter despair in his eyes. He reached with his other hand, slowly, trembling, towards the young woman's prone form.

"No…" It was a quiet whisper, and all the more powerful for it. "No."

"Who was she?" Jet knew better than to offer condolences without information. "Someone important?"

Zuko's breath shook on the inhale, keeping time with his hands. "Y—yea. My betrothed."

"From your old life."

Zuko looked at him, quiet desperation and a terrible sort of fear in his eyes. "Please, Jet. I can't let her die."

Jet knelt behind him, wrapping his arms around his sired and pressing his front to Zuko's back. "Baby. You know how painful it was. Holding on will only hurt you."

"No. I—no. Mai…Mai's worth it."

A hand in Zuko's hair, a mouth by his ear. "Let go."

"But—"

"Hush." Jet laid a finger on Zuko's lips, and his words collapsed into a quiet sob. "Let go."

It was a long while, full of soft, incoherent protests, until Zuko finally nodded and let Jet, who ignored the pleading in her half-delirious eyes, pull him away from the living corpse.

* * *

"It'll be okay, my darling," Jet said, not looking behind him. "It's good to let go."

Zuko didn't respond.

"I know it's hard. But you have a new life, a new world, a new status, one that will help you when you're hurt, one where you don't have to put on a perfect façade. You'll be so much happier than you were before." Jet took a deep breath, preparing for what he was about to say. "I know I was." He looked back to see Zuko's reaction, knowing his sired would want to know more—

Zuko wasn't there.

Nights! No wonder he hadn't spoken since they'd come across Mai. What was he doing over there? Jet immediately turned on his heel and leapt through the buildings back to the alleyway, and, sure enough, he found Zuko bent over, hand pressed to weak lips, stroking her hair and whispering softly to her, little choked-up assurances of I got you, it's gonna be okay, I got you.

"Zuko!"

He looked up at Jet, and Jet could see the guilty cringe on his face. "I swear," he whispered. "I just don't want her to die."

Getting angry wouldn't solve anything, but the heat still rose in Jet's chest. He pushed it down. "Zuko, you're still a kid in vampire terms. You don't have enough hunting expertise to get enough blood to feed both her and yourself. I'm still supposed to take care of you, and no one—" He thought of a few people he'd met over the centuries and amended his statement. "—almost no one can take care of two new sireds at the same time. It'll be better—it would have been better for everyone if you'd just—"

He stopped. There was no way to phrase this that wouldn't turn Zuko against him.

"Just let her die," Zuko finished, expression hard. "I'm not doing that."

Jet sighed. "I don't think you can, now." He knelt just behind him, slipping his arms around his sired's waist and nuzzling his ear. "But you've got to understand that you can't sire everyone you loved in your old life. Part of being immortal is making peace with death."

He felt Zuko's face soften, but Zuko didn't answer.

Jet sighed and gently pushed his hand away from Mai's mouth, noting the shallowly dripping cut in his palm. Zuko would likely be exhausted from this already. Too little blood in the body, and a person couldn't function. Zuko tried to push him away, but the hunger hit him like a brick, and he practically collapsed by her side—only to watch Jet cut a line in his own palm and place it on Mai's mouth himself. "Don't worry, darling, she only needs a little more blood."

Zuko relaxed at that, took his arms out from underneath Mai and let Jet scoop her up. Already her questing was slackening, her head threatening to roll back, and Jet thanked the Night that he'd had the foresight since only three hundred to keep himself full for as long as he had a sired around. (Poor Longshot still couldn't talk, and a vampire bite was supposed to be restorative.) Zuko lay still on the bloodied cobbles, eyes closed, looking for all the world like a dead body.

"Are you gonna be alright on your own for a bit, darling?" Jet asked, and got an affirmative hum in response.

"Alright, then," he whispered, and carried Mai off, jumping across the rooftops and through the districts towards their little apartment.

It was a long enough distance, even taking shortcuts, that Jet had plenty of time to think on just how he was going to do this. She'd be attached to Zuko first and foremost, after whoever bit her, so he would have to do the majority of feeding. Of course, there was another problem with that: young sireds required both a lot of food and a lot of face-to-face time. The only one's he'd known who'd managed to pull off raising two at once had kept massive farms to drastically cut down on hunting time, and had been careful not to kill off any of their livestock. He'd never heard of anyone successfully raising three. Of course, Zuko was moving out of the dependent stage, and could probably figure out a lot of hunting on his own, with only occasional guidance. He wouldn't need as much emotional support anymore. And, given Zuko's protectiveness over her, he wouldn't have any problems with the emotional side. If Jet did most of the hunting while Zuko took care of her, and fed off of him so that he could feed Mai himself, they might be able to give her all the time and food she needed. Maybe it would be different. Maybe she'd get attached to Jet as well, and they could split duties. Maybe they'd be able to pull off this craziness.

Maybe, just maybe, this might work.

* * *

**So, uh...apparently I forgot to update this two chapters ago. So. Doing that now.**


	6. Derailment

Zuko raised an eyebrow at their final destination. "The catacombs?"

"That's where the party is," Jet said.

Mai held tightly to Zuko's hand as they descended underground, winding their way towards a hubbub in the distance. The walls were lit up with firelight, making pretty shadows dance across the ground, leading the way to the gathering. A couple dozen figures greeted them as they emerged from the shadows. It was a small party, even by vampire standards; Jet had figured that such an occasion would be the best for Zuko's debut.

"Jet!" one of the figures greeted them, a young-looking woman with clear Water Tribe origins. Jet nodded to Zuko. Zuko took the hint and went back into the shadows to find a safe place for Mai while Jet greeted the woman back.

Mai tugged on his arm. "You're leaving me?" The pain in her eyes was palpable.

Zuko sighed and kissed her on the forehead. "It's only for a little while, I promise. Just stay here, alright?" A stroke of her cheek, a nuzzle on the forehead. "I love you. I'm not going to abandon you."

Her pain subsided, but it was quickly replaced by sadness. She didn't fight as Zuko guided her into a little niche to rest and stay hidden. The shadows covered her, played against her pale skin, and Zuko took a moment to admire her beauty before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and turning back to the party.

It was time for his debut.

The party was a blur of light and sound and people, whirring in Zuko's head as he stumbled to the outer ring of darkness. He could see Jet, still easily conversing with half a dozen others. But Zuko was young and an introvert, and despite his newfound confidence, he still found himself drained by all of this small talk and introductions and noise.

Perhaps he should go check on Mai.

He curled up in his own little nook in the rock, shutting his eyes and focusing on his breathing to shut out the conversations. Mai could wait a few more minutes. He needed a rest. Though the rock was uncomfortable, his nook was isolated, and Jet had moved away, back into the fray, which meant that he was unlikely to see Zuko hiding away. He closed his eyes and fell into a light slumber.

Only a few minutes passed before he woke up, judging by the noise level. He managed to stand up, fighting his grogginess, and went to Mai's own hiding spot, skirting around the partygoers to avoid being sucked back into the social whirlwind.

"Hey, love," he said, looking to cuddle his sired, hoping that he could get away with ditching the rest of the party—

Mai was gone.

_Nights!_ Where was she? Had someone taken her? Immediate panic closed Zuko's throat, making him struggle for breath he didn't need. Had she gone looking for Jet? Where was Jet? What if she wasn't with Jet? Was she looking for Zuko now? Nights nights nights nights _nights!_

"Jet!" he yelled, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

His sire materialized out of the crowd, concern on his face amidst the murmurs of the partygoers. "What is it?"

"Mai's gone."

His eyes widened. "That's not good."

A few other vampires began to drift towards them, overhearing their conversation. "Who's Mai? Where might she be?"

Jet waved them off for the moment, capturing Zuko's hands in his own, rubbing them together. "It's ok, my love, we'll find her, we just need to calm down a little and look."

"I-I- Okay. But we need to find her."

"Of course." Jet tugged him into the crowd, again, and Zuko finally managed to focus on the task at hand. Mai needed him. Mai needed them.

The party surged around them as they sought their sired, hunting desperately. Within minutes everyone had heard of the lost sired, and a hum descended across the room, until someone pointed Zuko to his left. "Over here!" he called to Jet, waving at him until he spotted him and then diving into the crush to the direction the helpful vampire had pointed.

"Mai?" he cried as Jet caught up to him. "Mai?"

There wasn't an answer, but they burst into a small opening to see her alongside a tall woman. Brown hair, broad shoulders, clearly Earth Kingdom-

"Oh no," Jet whispered, holding Zuko back. "Kyoshi."

Zuko looked over at his sire. "Kyoshi? As in Avatar Kyoshi? She's alive?"

"Of course I'm alive, boys." The voice, hard and female, gave them both a scare. "You think I died?"

They turned to see the woman towering over them, Mai trailing behind her with the same sort of blank, innocent look all new sireds had when safe, and flinched back from her intimidating height. "Um," Zuko managed to say, his voice quieter than normal.

"You looking for her?" She pointed at Mai, who blinked. "You're her sires, aren't you?"

"Yes, we are," Jet replied before Zuko could open his mouth, reaching around Kyoshi and tugging on Mai's arm. Clearly her appearance had rattled him. But Mai showed no sign of budging from her place by Kyoshi's side. "Darling-"

"She's fine," Kyoshi said. "I think she was mine, anyways."

Jet actually covered Zuko's mouth at his first squeak and let out a little breath of mixed relief and exasperation. "Well, now she's attached to you. If you don't stay with her enough, it might hurt her." Now Zuko was tugging on his own arm, eyes full of fear. "It's okay, baby. She's not going to hurt her."

"Of course not," she agreed. "She's just as much mine as yours. You fed her, I take it?"

"We fed her."

"Jet, she _attacked_ her!"

Mai started to fidget and draw back. Signs of distress. Zuko softened his tone. "Love, what if she-you know-"

"I am _not_ whoever your human parents were, young Zuko." At his surprise, her tone softened somewhat. "I am not that stupid. I know how to care for a sired."

"She does, darling," Jet murmured. "It's okay." Turning back to Kyoshi and giving Mai a reassuring smile, he said, "We're going to have to work out a way to pass her between us."

She waved a hand towards a dark spot, careful not to hit Mai. "Let's do this somewhere we can sit down."

* * *

The party was mostly over when the four emerged, Mai holding onto Jet's hand. It was settled. They'd move closer to each other, somewhere in a district where they could hunt properly, and trade off Mai every few days. Three vampires and a young sired in a single neighborhood was risky, but it had to be done. Extra travel time would be required for hunting. But Mai needed all three of them now, and this was the only way.

Jet just hoped they could pull it off.


	7. Capture

Kyoshi found herself laughing. "Kid," she finally said. "I'm not going to _kill_ you."

Zuko shifted in front of her. "And what about others? Even as a human you had a reputation for destruction."

Jet was watching, on edge, worried for his sired. Good man. "I assure you, I didn't destroy anyone who didn't deserve it."

That didn't seem to satisfy him, but she could see he was too scared to continue. She moved on. This meeting wasn't about killing anyone; it was about Mai. And besides, the kid had been dancing around her for months. They'd have years more to smooth things over between them.

"We're here for the hunt, remember?" Jet said after a moment of silence. It did good for the atmosphere. "It'll be Mai's first time leading."

The woman in question didn't look quite ready to lead. She still had the tendency to cover up her emotions, but her mask was thinner, more fluid, and her sires knew her. She was nervous. She didn't need to be—every sign pointed to her doing incredibly well. Her sense of smell was strong, and she still retained her pinpoint accuracy with knives. Zuko often told stories of her battle prowess. None of them had any doubt that Mai would lead them well and fill them tonight, save for Mai herself.

Only three of them would be going on this hunt. Kyoshi had her own business to attend to.

"Don't worry, Mai," Zuko murmured. He'd moved over to her to soothe her worries while Kyoshi had been thinking. "You'll be great. I'm sure of it." Mai buried her head into Zuko's shoulder while he held her close. Jet had mentioned he was very tactile.

"I know," she said. She was still a little bit nonverbal.

Kyoshi sighed, bringing attention back on her. "We've been talking for a bit too long, haven't we? The night's not getting any younger. People are going to bed."

She was right, and they knew it. It was reflected in their eyes. They said their goodbyes and stepped out the door, and Kyoshi was left watching them as they gave Mai some pointers and she started to lead the hunt.

Mai was nervous, but so had been all her sireds. She wondered idly if the Kyoshi Warriors knew they had a vampire counterpart. Most likely not—they didn't even know they still had an Avatar around, even if she'd lost all her bending when she'd died.

She'd do well. They always did.

* * *

The alley walls surrounded them as they began to finish their hunt, letting Mai lead the way home. Each of them were pleasantly full. They knew they were safe, even as they snuck through the shadows, careful of the light—

Disaster struck.

It struck in the form of tens of guards pouring out of the shadows to surround the three. Zuko and Jet formed an instinctive shield around Mai. But there were so _many_ of them, and neither were sure they could take out enough to protect her.

Whatever their intent, this was not a good development.

Mai shrunk back into the space between them, trying to get away from the soldiers on all sides, gripping one of the knives Jet had stolen for her. She didn't have nearly as many as she'd had before. Fighting was out for her, unless she wanted to go hand-to-hand, and it had been a long, long time since she'd practiced that. Her caretakers (her boys) held their swords out. Protecting her.

Before, she would have chafed at the display. Now, she knew better.

Motion at the open end of the alleyway. The soldiers began to part, revealing the two people who were, perhaps, the absolute worst people to find them.

"My son," Fire Lady Ursa said, her husband stoic at her side. "What did it do to you?"

* * *

Ropes bound Jet's wrists. Zuko and Mai's chains were a fair bit more metaphorical.

Mai's parents were away, having gotten over their daughter's death in a mere couple of weeks. Instead she stood at Zuko's side, Ursa and Ozai on either side of them, escorted as betrothed to the Crown Prince. (The _non-aging_ Crown Prince, which either had yet to remark on.) She didn't know whether to speak or fight or wait. Was she still leading? She didn't think so—this wasn't a hunt anymore—but—

Forget about that. That wasn't the point here.

Zuko slipped his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze, trying to reassure her, trying to project the illusion of control. Mai knew better. Her sire was capable, yes, but Ursa and Ozai were the ones that had trained him, raised him, knew him. He couldn't fight and win. Everyone here knew that.

But maybe he could cause a distraction.

The procession of guards and royals began to wind their way into the upper city. Dawn was breaking on the horizon. They were running out of time.

Zuko didn't let them. As soon as they stepped into an open courtyard he jerked aside, attacking the guards behind him as Mai sprinted forward and to the other side, dodging both of her parents-in-honor. Jet was getting in on the action too, causing more commotion behind them. She looked back for just a moment—"Go!" Jet yelled at her. "Go to Kyoshi!"—but didn't stop running until she could no longer hear the commotion.

Neither of her sireds had escaped with her.

* * *

Jet moved as soon as Zuko did, thoughts only on keeping his sireds safe. He didn't worry about his own. It turned out that he hadn't needed to. The guards were tired maybe, or maybe they were new, or injured, or a dozen other things that made it incredibly easy to break their positions and struggle through their ranks towards his sireds. He saw Mai hesitate as she bolted away and yelled "Go! Go to Kyoshi!"

She began to run again, and he never saw her stop.

Whatever advantage had let Jet break through in the first place, it didn't last long. Zuko managed to break away from his parents (keep him away, _keep him away_) long enough to meet Jet—"Where do we go?" he says, trying to fight off the guards that had followed him.

They didn't stay together long enough for Jet to respond.

The guards managed to slip hands over arms, torso, head, pulling him back into their crowd despite his struggles before someone tied his hands back. With chains this time. He caught glimpses of Zuko's parents, heard them yelling as they pulled their son back, screamed his sired's name above the deadly commotion. Mai—Mai had escaped but Zuko hadn't, Zuko was still captured, he needed to free him—

The chains around his wrists reminded him that Jet, too, was captured. And, to make things worse, in the commotion the guards had dragged them into the Royal Courtyard and the sun was rising in the east.

It was over.

Jet only hoped they'd get another chance.


	8. Climax

The pounding at the door startled Kyoshi out of her worrying. The trio were supposed to have come back by now, and every ray of sunlight coming through the window slats only hammered the point home. She opened the door, ignoring the foreboding spots of light on the floor, to find Mai, terrified and alone, outside her doorway.

Nights.

"Where are the boys?" she asked, knowing full well that she didn't want to hear the answer.

Mai collapsed into the doorway. "Captured. By—by the Royal Family."

So they wanted their kid back. She could understand that. That didn't mean they could have him, though.

She guided Mai inside and laid her on the couch, stroking her hair, calming her down, all while her mind started to try and find a solution, a way to get them back. Guards, dungeons, maze-like halls—how would she find them in the first place? And how, exactly, would she get them out?

Her mind buzzed with questions, and in her distraction, her eyes fell on something old and familiar. Makeup and bronze fans and a green dress in the closet.

Perhaps it was time for the Avatar Kyoshi to make an appearance.

* * *

"Kaito, please. You know Jet, don't you? Do you owe him any favors?"

The huge man in front of Mai huffed. "Not any that big."

Kyoshi hung back, listening to her sired bargain with Kaito. He'd be important: he and his goons were renowned some of the best in the underworld, and they were willing to ally themselves with causes they saw as good even if the pay was bad. She'd let Mai steer this conversation. She could easily have intimidated him into agreeing, but that wouldn't have given them the guarantee they needed. Fear would create reluctance where she wanted conviction. But she'd dealt with him before. Kaito liked to act tough, but Kyoshi knew his soft spots. He hated the idea of a child in danger. He would gladly destroy anyone who took a wrongful captive. And he was weak to a pretty woman's face.

And, inexperienced as her little Mai might be, she'd already managed to hit all three of those.

"Why should I risk my head for that crazy bloodsucker?" Kaitlyn was saying, probably about Jet. "I'm fond of him, but not _that_ fond. Besides, Kyoshi, ain't he older than you?"

"He is," she confirmed. "But Zuko is only two. Still a kid."

"The Crown Prince, huh?" He whistled. "I suspected when I heard the news, but I didn't think even Jet would be that stupid. Some kid." His fingers started tapping. "Besides, don't y'all only take one sired at a time?"

"There was a complication." Kyoshi folded her arms. End of discussion.

He looked perturbed by that. Nights.

Mai looked lost and Kyoshi started to consider taking over. Not only did her sired have to negotiate with someone she'd never met—she was doing wonderfully, but still—but her two other sires had been captured by maybe the two worst people they ever could have gotten captured by, all at only eleven months. The poor thing had so much on her plate. It didn't help that Kaito was an imposing man, and he often didn't let someone know when he sympathized with them, and sometimes he didn't let them know when he agreed. Kyoshi's years of knowing him let her know that he was about to agree. Mai didn't have that advantage.

Still, Kyoshi hung back. If she got involved now she'd ruin it.

"Please. I don't—I don't know what else to tell you. I just—we need you. I need my sires back." If a dead body could cry, Mai would be crying. Kyoshi knew it, and she was sure that Kaito knew it.

He stayed silent for just a moment, and then he softened, just a little. "Alright. I'll help you two break the Prince out of the palace." He shook his head. "Agni, the stuff I do for you people…"

* * *

If Mai's heart could still beat, it would be pounding.

She watched Kyoshi meet up with Kaito, who then signalled for his men to take up positions along the wall near the gates. The night sky was high above her as she perched on the rooftop, the newly risen moon casting silver light into the outside courtyard. The walls to the palace courtyard were huge and tall, imposing in a way she'd never noticed as a child visiting the Prince and Princess. They towered over the group at the bottom, making their expedition seem hopeless, condemning them for even _daring_ to think they could breach the palace walls and get back Jet and Zuko.

Kyoshi had assured her that what the walls said was wrong. Mai had to believe her.

The little figures below her began to scale the wall, unable to get through the gates. It was time to go back home. But she found she couldn't leave yet, hands tightening on the tree branch, an imagined heartbeat thumping in her ears. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't worried for Kyoshi. But Kyoshi would be fine. Kyoshi was _Kyoshi!_ The Kyoshi! She'd split Kyoshi Island from the Earth Kingdom and killed Chin the Conqueror! She'd destroyed entire armies with one blow!

…and she'd done it all with her bending. And vampires couldn't bend.

But Kyoshi had told her to go home, and so she had to go home. She had to trust her sired.

Terrified, reluctant, with tears in her eyes, she forced herself to turn away and begin the journey back to their apartment.

* * *

The stones of the wall were rough under Kyoshi's hands, and for a brief moment she wished for the old connection with earth, with the Earth, that dying had severed in her. Raava had left her when she'd convinced her friend, the only one that had lived as long as her, to sink his teeth into her and feed her his blood. She'd said the world still needed her.

And it had, she supposed, thinking back on all the young women and men she'd fostered, rescued, all the monsters she'd killed in the dead of night in revenge for her sires. Just not in the way she'd expected.

But now there was someone else who needed her and the stealth skills she'd gained over her years of unlife. Zuko was inside the walls of the palace, trapped with maybe-well-meaning parents who knew nothing about what he needed, who refused to let him go. Her fingers curled in between the stones as she hauled herself up the wall, Kaito and his men following her, and she began again, even after a week of planning, to map out every possible scenario in her head, anticipating any moves their enemy might make. Where would Zuko be? Where would Jet be? How much could they trust Kaito's floor plans? Most importantly, where would Ursa and Ozai be, and would they be asleep?

She didn't know yet. She'd find out soon.

The palace was imposing from the top of the wall, but she didn't mind—she was Kyoshi, the most powerful Avatar of all time, feared and revered both in humanity's memory and the vampire world. She'd be fine, and so would Zuko and Jet once she got them out.

Kaito and his men began to appear with her on top of the wall, letting down the ropes around their torsos. The climb back down would be a fair bit easier. Guards patrolled below, but they were few and easily taken care of, and Kyoshi slipped into the palace, her colleagues finding other entrances.

The hall in front of her was lined with doors, most likely to the suites for lower-ranking nobles. She didn't find Jet or Zuko anywhere here. So she moved on, going first lower and lower into the basement levels of the palace, slipping into the palace prison like a shadow, eyes and ears straining for any hint of Jet.

"Kyoshi?" a distant voice called. Jet's voice.

"I'm here," she replied, her own voice stirring some of the prisoners around her. "Where are you?"

"Over here, over here, over here," he called as she followed the sound of his voice to a cell identical to all the rest. The iron bars may not have posed a match for the Avatar Kyoshi, but the vampire Kyoshi went instead for the lock, taking out a pin she'd stashed for just this purpose and carefully unlocking the cell. Jet stood silently, crouched, ready to slip out as soon as the door opened. Soon he stalked through the halls at her side.

Those same hallways had changed from stone walls and damp air to torches and finery when she finally found Kaito, who was talking with one of his men. Zuko stood quietly behind him, scared, until he caught sight of Jet.

There were no words spoken. Zuko just pushed aside the men and barrelled into Jet's arms.

"Hey, baby," Jet murmured into his hair. "I missed you too."

They spared a moment for Zuko's sniffles to subside, and then Kaito cut in. "Come on," he said, his gruff voice managing not to echo in the massive hall. "Let's get out of here. How the hell do those Royals even live in such a creepy place?"

* * *

It was a little bit before they all reached the main doors, hoping that they wouldn't get noticed. So far so good, right? There had only been a few guards, and Zuko managed to take care of those who did stick around.

Too few guards. Kyoshi's danger senses were prickling again.

"Kaito," she murmured. "Something's up. It's too empty."

He huffed. "No kidding. Everyone get your weapons ready. We might have an ambush on our hands," he whisper-called back to the group.

Thirty seconds passed in near silence.

Then a bell rang through the castle, and just like the disastrous hunt before, guards poured out of the shadowy nooks and crannies. And of course, just like before, the two most terrifying people in the Fire Nation stepped out of the formation.

Zuko seemed to sigh beside Kyoshi. "Mother, Father, why are you still holding on to me? I don't belong here anymore."

"Of course you belong here," Ursa said. "You're our son. You're the Crown Prince." Ozai is silent beside her, studying Zuko with unreadable eyes. "I don't know what those bloodsuckers told you—"

Jet _hissed_ beside Zuko, held back only by the arm that blocked him. "Don't call them that," Zuko said, no threat and no pleading in his voice. "Don't call me that."

"Zuko, please. You're not one of them. You're one of us. You're my—our—son."

"No I'm not." Zuko sounded tired. "I'm not yours anymore."

Jet sidestepped the arm keeping him back and nearly spat at the Royals. "He isn't, trust me. Your son died that night. The Zuko before you is mine. Not yours."

Ursa opened her mouth...and then shut it, seemingly unable to create words in her rage. A tense silence passed.

"Are you sure about this?"

Ozai's voice was deep, smooth, and entirely unexpected, given that it had seemed that Ursa was taking over this encounter. Zuko stiffened. Kyoshi found herself waiting for his answer.

"Yes," Zuko said. "I'm sure."

Another moment of silence. Ozai turned to Ursa. "Perhaps we should let him go. The past few days have only shown us how lost he is to us." Kyoshi would have called it callousness in his voice, but the pain in his eyes told a different story.

Ursa looked at him in shock, still voiceless. The guards began to murmur, unsure of their duty, torn between the loyalties to those who were supposed to be one.

"Well," Ursa snapped finally, "you may have given up on my son, but _I won't._ Guards! Seize them!"

* * *

Kaito stopped. What was left of his men trailed behind him in the street, nursing broken limbs and bloody wounds. "This is our place." A sigh, and Kyoshi turned around to see him staring at her, resignation and bitterness mixing in his eyes. "We lost men tonight. Lost them for your boys. I hope it was worth it, Kyoshi." Then he turned and disappeared inside his hideout, his men trailing after him.

"I wish we could have saved them," Zuko said, a few seconds after the last one closed the door.

Kyoshi sighed. "That would have been nice. But, as a vampire, you...get used to losing people."

They were quiet after that as they headed to the apartment. It was a bit more than a few blocks away, and situated in a run-down bit of the capital, where lots of criminals hung out, where lots of guilt-free food ran around. Kyoshi could spot movement behind the windows, despite the sun beginning to rise. She pursed her lips—she'd hoped that Mai would at least _try_ to get some sleep, but she supposed it was only natural that she'd stay up worrying for them.

"Is that—" Jet said.

"It is. Apparently she's been waiting up for us."

Zuko sighed; he was looking towards the east. "It started at sunrise. And now it ends at sunrise. Maybe that means something."

"We're not in some sort of play, Zuko," Jet teased. "It's just the sunrise. Speaking of which, let's go inside and get some sleep."

Zuko cracked open the door after they walked up—and found himself nearly bowled over by Mai crashing into him. "You're okay!" Her cry was breathless, and she gave off little gasps as Jet wrapped his arms around the two, tugging them inside to collapse on the couch. They began to chatter softly, sobs of delight coming from all of them, revelling in the feel of each other, of being reunited.

Kyoshi watched from the doorway. This wouldn't be for her, not really; she'd had a part in raising Mai, yes, but these three were their own trio. She would leave them alone for now.

It was still her apartment though, so she walked inside and went to bed for some much-needed rest.

* * *

**Just the epilogue to go, now.**


End file.
